


A Destiny They Deserved

by 1Syphira



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Badass Women, F/F, Fix-It, If you watch Merlin closely enough it doesn't make sense that they are sisters, Not tagging morcest because they're not sisters, Screw Destiny, Smut, happy ever after, lesbian smut, not sisters, romantic smut, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Syphira/pseuds/1Syphira
Summary: No matter the lifetime, they're always destined to meet. An alternate universe where Morgana and Morgause are soul mates, NOT sisters (as it should have been, let's be honest here). A romantic one shot.
Relationships: Morgana/Morgause (Merlin)
Kudos: 16





	A Destiny They Deserved

**Author's Note:**

> Mkay I know this fandom is like dead, but whatever I re-watched Merlin and desperately wanted to give these two the happy ending they deserved. If you're a straggler like me and are looking for some less angsty fluff between these two, enjoy! ^_^  
> P.S. I'm leaving their first meeting the exact same because it was so perfectly rife with sexual tension LOL

**A Destiny They Deserved**

The first time the Lady Morgana met the beautiful and mysterious warrior named only as Morgause (well, outside the woman’s dramatic appearance in the Great Hall, thrown gauntlet, and subsequent defeat of Arthur in one-on-one combat), the Ward was entirely unprepared for intensity of the connection between them. She felt drawn to Morgause; pulled by some unknowable force, and although she couldn’t begin to explain it, she also couldn’t have denied it if she tried. She found herself, quite inexplicably, in Morgause’s chambers looking for her after the battle with Arthur. She felt compelled to introduce herself to Morgause, though she couldn’t begin to understand why. Though now that she was in the private chambers of the warrior, she suddenly realized it was highly irregular and perhaps inappropriate. Just as she resolved herself to leave, Morgause appeared around from behind the changing curtains and stopped in her tracks upon seeing the Ward.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Morgana said softly. Morgause’s dark eyes flickered to the door then back to Morgana, looking at her with interest. As the warrior gazed at her, though, Morgana found she could not meet the other woman’s fierce eyes. Now that she was here, she suddenly felt nervous under the scrutiny of such eyes. “I-I wanted to introduce myself; I’m the Lady Morgana,” she continued, realizing she didn’t have an excuse for being here other than she felt drawn to her (which she couldn’t exactly say to the blonde without sounding like she was afflicted in the brain). Though now that she thought about it, it was quite irregular that she had come here at all. Why should a Lady of the court be interested in introducing herself to a stranger who had defeated Arthur in battle?

“I know who you are,” Morgause replied, though for all that fierceness she’d displayed on the battlefield, her voice was silky and gentle and frightfully arousing. The ensuing smile on the blonde’s lips made Morgana’s heart leap into her throat. It was tender and beautiful, but something else, something deeper lurked there that Morgana couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was looking at Morgana as if she knew something that Morgana did not, but there was no mocking in her eyes. If anything, she was looking at Morgana with deep adoration and possibly even excitement.

She found she couldn’t quite find words under the intense gaze of Morgause as the blonde approached her, and she scrambled, trying to find an excuse as to why she was here. When she saw Gaius had wrapped the wound she’d received in her fight with Arthur, she found at least a halfway decent excuse. “H-how is your arm? You were wounded.”

Morgause cast a noncommittal glance down at her arm then looked back up at Morgana. “It will heal soon enough.”

Morgause was still approaching Morgana slowly, carefully, as if searching for resistance or discomfort. Morgana found she couldn’t back away, indeed, she seemed frozen to the spot, but she also found she could not meet the warrior’s intense gaze as she desperately tried to think of something else to say. She failed. Miserably. It didn’t help that Morgause looked impossibly attractive wearing that loose white tunic and black breeches, and slightly dirty from her fight with Arthur. Though the look was quite masculine in appearance, Morgause still looked breathtakingly beautiful and somehow still strangely feminine with her blonde curls falling attractively about her shoulders. It took Morgana several moments to realize she was blatantly looking over Morgause’s body in approval of what she saw, though she found she couldn’t seem to stop, much to her embarrassment. She also felt lightheaded and breathless which was absolutely not helping matters.

Seeming to sense Morgana’s lack of ability to articulate proper words at the moment, Morgause came to her rescue. “You look tired,” the blonde said softly.

Morgana’s eyes shot up to meet Morgause’s at last, ready to be offended, but the look of deep concern in those beautiful dark eyes made offense impossible. “I haven’t been sleeping,” she admitted, thankful to have an excuse to keep talking to Morgause, though she got the sense again that Morgause knew something about the reason why she might be tired. Which was incredibly confusing and interesting and puzzling and alluring all at the same time.

“I myself know how troubling that can be,” Morgause said, and Morgana was surprised to see understanding, and not pity in Morgause’s words. The warrior at last looked away, glancing at the bed for somewhere to set down her chainmail.

“Could it be that we’ve met somewhere before?” Morgana blurted out before she could stop herself.

Morgause’s eyes darted back up to Morgana and after a moment she shook her head, looking as though this saddened her greatly. “I’m glad we’ve met now,” she said, her small smile clearly displaying the truth in her words.

After an extended moment of gazing at Morgana (which had the Ward’s breast heaving slightly, much to her continued embarrassment), Morgause at last looked away to set the chainmail she’d been holding on the nearby bed, giving the Ward a moment to collect herself. Her eyes traveled over Morgause’s body again (seemingly of their own accord—Morgause was impossibly attractive), falling upon a bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She decided this was as good an excuse as any to keep talking to Morgause. “That’s a beautiful bracelet,” Morgana said, hoping to sound conversational and not desperate.

Morgause cast a glance down at it. “It was a gift. From someone I cared about deeply,” she said, then her eyes returned to Morgana, the effect of which had Morgana’s heart pounding in her chest. “Please, I-I’d like you to have it,” she continued, removing it from her wrist and offered it to the Ward. “It’s a healing bracelet; it will help you sleep.”

Morgana found herself shaking her head from such a generous and undeserved offering. “I couldn’t,” she stammered, trying to regain her poise. The look of confusion tinged with hurt that came across the blonde’s face broke Morgana’s heart, though she couldn’t begin to explain why this woman’s feelings mattered so very much to her. “Y-you must be tired, I will leave you to rest,” she said quickly, assuming Morgause would probably never want to see her ever again after such a rude (and quite unintended) rejection.

Morgana was so flustered she found herself fleeing, but just as she reached the door, Morgause called out after her, “I hope you will remember me fondly?” Her voice was pleading, as though it would shatter her if Morgana did not.

Such simple words and yet they burned into Morgana, branding her heart as though Morgause had just lay claim over her, despite the gentleness with which they were delivered. She turned and looked upon Morgause, and seeing the pleading look on her face nearly made her throw herself in front of Morgause and beg for her forgiveness. She might have, too, were she not a Lady of the Court and such a thing weren’t completely inappropriate and beneath her station. She couldn’t find words at all, but she had to do something, she couldn’t leave Morgause like this, not without offering some form of reassurance. She realized the moment had gone on too long, so she offered Morgause a slow nod before fleeing from the room. When she’d returned to her bed chambers, she was so flushed Gwen had thought she had a fever.

When she found the bracelet at the foot of her bed the next morning, it thrilled her far more than she cared to admit, the thought that Morgause must have snuck into her bed chambers while she slept to leave it there before vanishing into the night. She suddenly wished she would have awakened, though she had no idea what she would have done with Morgause if she had. She promptly put the bracelet on and there it stayed with alarming permanence. She couldn’t bring herself to remove it, not even when she bathed or slept.

The second time they met, it was in the crowded markets of Camelot, and she was equally unprepared for the intense tenderness in Morgause’s eyes as when they fell upon her.

“Morgause!” Morgana exclaimed, startled by the blonde’s unexpected appearance back in Camelot. She tried desperately to keep her poise, but the sun caressing Morgause’s soft golden curls and fair skin made it difficult for her to breathe properly, let alone maintain her poise. What was it about this woman that held such sway over her? Aside from the obvious: she was dashing, powerful, beautiful, etc. “W-what are you doing back in Camelot?”

“For the tournament,” Morgause replied, her smile both confident but strangely shy as she regarded Morgana. “And for the chance to win the favor of the Lady Morgana, perhaps? When I win?”

One of Morgana’s eyebrows shot up in surprise of the warrior’s confident words. Morgana knew many skilled warriors were competing in the tournament, including Arthur and even Uther himself. Then again, Morgause had already defeated Arthur once in combat, and he was the best fighter in all of Camelot, so it wasn’t as if her confidence was unfounded. She also saw it wasn’t out of arrogance that she said “when,” simply confidence in her own abilities.

Morgana pretended to look at some silks from a nearby merchant’s stand, mostly to try and hide how thrilled she was by the idea that Morgause had entered the tournament just for her. “You wish for my favor?” she asked, slightly annoyed by how hopeful her voice sounded.

“More than anything,” Morgause replied so swiftly and with such genuineness that it nearly made Morgana’s knees buckle.

“But why?” Morgana asked weakly. “What have I done to draw the attentions of a powerful warrior such as yourself?”

Morgause smiled, soft and radiant yet mystery still lurked there. “I have desired your favor since the moment I laid eyes upon you, Morgana.”

Morgana couldn’t have expressed in words how much those words thrilled her if she tried. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that it wasn’t entirely appropriate that a woman of Morgause’s station (whatever that was) address her by her name and not as “My Lady,” but she didn’t get the sense that it was because Morgause did not respect Morgana’s title. If anything, she looked upon her as a true equal, in a way no one ever had. It made it feel like a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach and filled her with a yearning that consumed her. Still, she was determined to maintain her poise with Morgause this time, unlike the last time they met. “I wish you luck,” Morgana replied. “And . . . thank you. For the bracelet. I’ve never slept so well since you’ve given it to me.”

“I’m glad,” Morgause said earnestly, taking a bold step towards Morgana.

Her earnestness was puzzling, of course. Why was Morgana’s well-being of such importance to this woman? She wasn’t even sure Uther cared this much. Every time she tried to discuss even the mildest of ailments with him, he just acted uncomfortable then told her to go see Gaius. Morgause’s attentions were heady and intoxicating. And very bloody confusing. After a stammered goodbye, Morgana fled once again. Which. . . so much for poise.

The third time they met (after Morgana spent all night thinking about Morgause, and at some point her hand ended up between her legs as she thought about those beautiful eyes looking upon her naked body. She then felt really naughty and a little bit guilty after bringing herself to a very intense climax) was after the first round of the tournament the next day. Morgause had fought with bravery and skill, but she had suffered a wound to her abdomen from a mercenary who had proven himself quite vicious by slashing her with a hidden blade in his gauntlet. Morgause had retaliated immediately by knocking him out with a hard blow to his head with the flat of her blade.

Fearing the worst, Morgana left the stands after the fight to Morgause’s tent where Gaius was currently treating her wound. When she entered the tent, Gaius looked up, surprise crossing his face when he saw her.

“Lady Morgana,” he said, rising from next to Morgause. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I could help the wounded, the fighters who made it through to the next round. I’m sure there are others who need your help. Let me help her. I am likely far safer treating her than some of those ruffian men,” Morgana added, knowing that would make him relent.

He nodded and offered her the bandages with a tight smile at the thought of her alone with such barbarians. “You are quite right. Thank you, my dear.”

When he left, Morgana turned and looked upon Morgause who was sitting still on the cot in the tent, gazing up at her with those incredible dark eyes of hers. The sight stole the breath from Morgana’s lungs. Morgause was looking at her with unconcealed devotion, but with a deep undercurrent of desire, as though she wished to devour Morgana whole.

Morgana’s lower lip slipped between her teeth and she sat next to the warrior on the small cot, trying to contain her excitement at being alone with the warrior. She began cleaning the gash on Morgause’s abdomen, being as gentle as possible, but Morgause showed no signs of pain. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep, and she was glad, for Morgana realized she couldn’t bear the idea of anyone causing Morgause pain. The blonde watched her for quite some time, those dark eyes burning into Morgana and setting her aflame in ways she didn’t even know she could burn. When Morgana reached around the blonde’s abdomen to wrap the cloth bandage around her waist, their faces ended up entirely too close together and her breath caught in her throat. Morgause didn’t move, but she was looking at Morgana’s lips with heavily lidded eyes, and the sight was so arousing Morgana was sure to burst into flames any moment. She politely cleared her throat and forced herself to continue wrapping the wound. It was difficult not to admire Morgause’s strong, slender form as she did so.

“You are very kind,” Morgause said softly after Morgana felt as though the silence might just kill her.

“I admit my intentions are not entirely altruistic,” Morgana said with a small smile, regaining at least some composure. “I need to ensure my favored fighter is in top health for tomorrow’s fight.”

Morgana watched in utter delight as Morgause’s eyes widened in surprise. “I am favored over the prince or king?” she asked, a beautiful smile gracing her lips.

“Please,” Morgana smirked. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see both their egos taken down several notches. In fact, I’m not sure whether Uther’s ego could even handle being defeated by a woman in combat. I revel in the idea of you defeating him,” she added darkly.

Concern entered the blonde’s face, as well as a profound thread of protectiveness. “Has Uther been cruel to you?”

Morgana looked away, suddenly embarrassed that this virtual stranger had read her so easily. The deep wounds Uther had inflicted upon her heart was not something she wanted to remember, let alone discuss. She once felt safe within the walls of Camelot, but after feeling the bite of manacles cutting into her wrists after Uther had thrown her in the dungeons, after realizing she had magic in a kingdom where her very existence was punishable by death, safety was a thing of the past.

Then again, as she looked into Morgause’s beautiful dark eyes, she felt safer than she could ever remember feeling. What was it about this woman drew Morgana to her like a moth to the flames? And if Morgause was the proverbial flames, Morgana would surely die happily burning in her arms.

“I-it was meant as a joke,” Morgana back-pedaled, carefully tying off the wrapping around Morgause’s waist. “Anyway, you are my chosen champion. I hope you win, for it is I who will have the honor of giving you the champion’s reward.”

Morgause’s strong hand slid boldly into one of Morgana’s as she pulled back from the bandages, and Morgana watched in wonder as the blonde brought her hand to her lips. She kissed Morgana’s knuckles slowly, intimately, closing her eyes for several moments before reopening them to look at the king’s Ward again. The sight made everything in Morgana light up like a bonfire. It was difficult not to imagine those wonderfully soft lips against her own, claiming her in ways she suddenly longed to be claimed.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Morgana,” Morgause all but whispered, her breath hot on Morgana’s skin and _gods_ it was far too delicious how her name sounded on Morgause’s tongue. For the life of her, Morgana was entirely unsure how she escaped the tent with her virginity still intact.

The next time they met, Morgana had given Morgause the winning gold chalice and a purse of coins with trembling fingers, nearly dropping them in her excitement.

It was at their fifth meeting that Morgana came to accept that she was hopelessly smitten with the blonde warrior. And that her desire for Morgause was far less than innocent and definitely not “ladylike.” After making some excuse to Uther of wanting to be alone after the tournament but before the post-tournament feast, Morgana had promptly gone to the winner’s bed chamber—accommodations promised to the champion for the night by the king. When she entered, she found Morgause had just freed herself of her chainmail and was cleaning her face in a wash bin. She was dressed again in that accursedly attractive white tunic and black breeches, and she wore a black cloth about her neck like a choker which made the entire ensemble entirely too dashing and beautiful for one person to embody.

“Morgana!” Morgause said upon seeing her, surprise and delight lighting up her beautiful face. She grabbed a nearby towel and began wiping her face. “I am not yet changed for the celebration feast. Has it already begun?”

Now that she was face to face with the beautiful blonde, Morgana suddenly realized she didn’t actually have a legitimate excuse for being here (other than really just wanting to be in her orbit). “No, I. . . I just wanted to see how your wound is. I can have Gaius bring some fresh bandages if you need,” Morgana said, proud of herself for coming up with at least a halfway decent excuse off the cuff.

“I’ve always healed quickly, do not worry,” Morgause replied, stepping up to Morgana. The brunette’s heart quickened at how close Morgause chose to stand in front of her. The champion’s dark eyes flickered down to Morgana’s wrist where the healing bracelet she’d given her still rested. Strong but gentle fingers brushed against the bracelet and the skin just above it, and even that simple touch sent a shiver up Morgana’s spine. “It pleases me more than you know to see you wear this, Morgana.”

“I have not taken it off since you gave it to me,” Morgana replied, trying her best not to sound breathless. Being in such close proximity with Morgause had everything in her longing to press closer, to reach out and taste those beautiful lips, to claim them as her own. Being a Lady of the Court, Morgana didn’t exactly have any experience seducing someone, though she’d never desired to until now. She’d fortunately explored her body as she matured and so knew why her body was reacting the way it was, but that didn’t mean she was bold or brazen enough to make the first move. She didn’t even know if Morgause felt the same way. She decided the only way to find out was to somehow invite Morgause into her space in a more intimate way. Seizing the opportunity of Morgause winning the tournament, Morgana leaned forward and pressed her lips to the blonde’s cheek, allowing it to linger far longer than was necessary. Her heartrate sped up when Morgause didn’t move away. Indeed, the champion seemed frozen to the spot.

“A gift for the champion,” Morgana whispered, intentionally not pulling back. Her entire being willed Morgause to understand what it was she was offering, praying the blonde would turn her head just the tiniest bit to the right. . .

Morgana nearly whimpered when she felt those beautiful hands slide onto her hips. It wasn’t a possessive or aggressive touch; it was tentative in its boldness, as though she too were gauging Morgana’s intentions. “I will treasure it always,” Morgause whispered, and Morgana could swear she heard a tremble in her breath.

The effect on Morgana was immediate. Every inch of her felt like she was on fire again, like if she didn’t kiss Morgause she might just burn up from the inside out. Rationally she knew this couldn’t happen. Uther would certainly never allow it; Morgana knew from a young age she was expected to someday marry some prince to secure alliances between kingdoms. She suspected Morgause knew it too, based on the fact that she hadn’t moved a muscle, though her hands were still resting on Morgana’s hips. Morgana also knew she really shouldn’t continue because she had a strong feeling her coveted virginity would most certainly not last around Morgause. It was hard enough trying not to kiss her. She could only imagine how difficult it would be to stop from going much further if she did dare kiss the champion.

The decision was made for them when there was suddenly a loud knock on the door, giving them just enough time to jerk away from one another, and a moment later it swung open and Gwen strode in.

“Morgause, are you—oh,” the maid stopped in her tracks when she saw Morgana. Her eyes flickered between the two of them, confusion entering her pretty face when she saw the close distance between the two of them. “My Lady, w-what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure she knew she was sitting next to me tonight at the celebration,” Morgana answered smoothly, quite proud she’d been able to form words, let alone a fairly believable lie. “Gwen, see to it she is given one of my finest dresses to wear tonight.”

She turned and fled the room once again, though this time not from Morgause. This time she wanted anything but to be away from Morgause, but she really didn’t want Gwen to see that, for she had a feeling she couldn’t have hidden it if she tried.

* * *

The first time Morgause met Morgana Pendragon, despite knowing exactly who she was, she had been entirely unprepared for the intensity of her connection with the raven-haired beauty. She had known for many years she was destined to meet Morgana. When she became a High Priestess, part of the initiation ceremony was to witness the many branches of her possible destinies in the Crystal Cave. The beautiful and enchanting Lady Morgana was the one constant in all of them, she saw their destinies entwined, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Morgana was in her future. She also knew Morgana was destined to be the greatest sorceress ever to walk the earth, and that she was the rightful heir of Camelot, as she was Uther’s daughter and not simply his Ward (though she suspected Morgana didn’t know that last part yet). She also knew her role in Morgana’s life seemed to consistently be a protector and guide to Morgana. What she didn’t know or expect was that she would have such an incredible, undeniable attraction to her. She knew it was to be expected to a certain extent that she’d feel drawn to Morgana—they were both magic users and based on the fact that Morgana was tied so inevitably to her future, their souls seemed entwined as well—but the intensity was overwhelming to say the least.

She knew already that she loved Morgana. She’d known it from the moment she’d gazed at the woman’s reflection in the Crystal Cave. The idea that Morgana could possibly want to take her as a lover had never crossed her mind, though not because it was unusual for High Priestesses to take on female lovers. It was more, she never dared dream it possible that Morgana would look upon her in that way, and so she had come to Camelot with no expectations of how Morgana would receive her; she wanted to give Morgana the freedom to choose how she wanted Morgause in her life. She just wanted to be near Morgana, in whatever way the Lady of Camelot deemed to her liking.

What just happened between them, however, left little room for interpretation as to Morgana’s intentions after that kiss to her cheek. She found her fingertips had drifted up to touch the skin where Morgana’s lips had been only moments before, a somewhat dazed expression on her face. This was all moving much faster than she had thought it would. She had planned to stay in Camelot for some time, to build trust between them, then carefully reveal herself as High Priestess when Morgana was ready. Ideally, she wanted to offer to take Morgana from Camelot and Uther’s evil grasp to the Isle of the Blessed, where she could live safely as a sorceress without fear of death of being discovered constantly hanging over her head. Only then would she reveal to her that Uther was Morgana’s true father and that she had a claim to the throne. And then she would stand by Morgana’s side if she chose to lay claim on the throne of Camelot. Throne or not, though, Morgause already knew Morgana was her queen; she’d die for her, do anything for her, see to her every need and every desire.

But destiny, it seemed, thought Morgause’s carefully laid plans amusing. Staying for “some time” and not telling Morgana who she was might prove an insurmountable task with the clear interest Morgana had shown in her so quickly, and Morgause didn’t feel right bedding Morgana if she didn’t know who she was and why she was in Camelot. It didn’t help that Morgause desperately wanted the same thing as Morgana, and that was making it difficult to think clearly.

“Morgause?”

The blonde’s eyes flickered to Guinevere who was looking questioningly at her.

“Yes?” she said, realizing she’d been staring at the door after Morgana.

“Are you ready to look at dresses for the celebration tonight?” Gwen asked with a slightly amused smile.

“Very well,” Morgause replied and allowed herself to be led away.

The celebration was a terribly loud affair, and not in a pleasant sort of way. There was a lot of chest pounding of men and messy eating and barking laughter. The Isle of the Blessed wasn’t necessarily always quiet, but when the High Priestesses made noise it tended to be to cast spells or beat freely on drums while dancing around towering bonfires. Loud noise served a purpose, and laughter, though unrestrained, wasn’t offensive like the laughter of these drunken men. This was more akin to a battlefield, and although she was certainly no stranger to battle, as a woman in this foreign place, Morgause was expected to maintain polite smiles and friendly conversation with them, not beat them over the head with claymores as she somewhat wished to do at the moment.

However, when she overheard one of the drunk mercenaries across the table make a lascivious comment about Morgana’s dress being tight with a heavy innuendo implying he wanted to know if she were tight in more intimate areas of her body, something within Morgause snapped. Rising from the table with a speed that startled everyone at the table, she pulled a dagger from a hidden thigh belt as she did and pointed it at the vile man with unconcealed rage in her eyes.

“Take back your words, mercenary, or I will strike you down where you sit,” Morgause hissed at the man across the table as the room fell silent, all eyes upon her. Her entire body was humming with rage, but less at his comment and more at the idea of him touching Morgana or looking at her or even _thinking_ about her. The very idea of Morgana laying with him (or anyone, really) made her stomach roil with fury.

She realized she must not look a particularly intimidating sight, considering she was clothed in one of Morgana’s red silk dresses and not her chainmail from the tournament, but she also knew everyone at the celebration knew it was she who had won the tournament at least.

“What is this, then?” Uther interrupted, looking down the table at the scene. “Surely the words of a man enjoying a bit of mead can be forgiven?”

“This man has called the Lady Morgana’s honor into question, My Lord,” Morgause spat, not sure which she hated more, calling Uther “My Lord” or having to explain herself to him. “Will you allow such an insult to go unpunished? Or are all guests of your hall allowed to so freely speak of their lascivious desires to bed the Lady Morgana?”

That worked as well as any spell of control. Uther’s face darkened instantly, but just as he was about to likely order the man executed, Arthur jumped up from the table. “I’ll see him out, Father,” he said quickly, grabbing the man by the shoulder and hauled him off the bench upon which he sat. “I think a day or two or fortnight in the stocks will give him some time to think about what he’s done. After which, he can clean himself up and offer the Lady Morgana an apology, and only hope she is feeling merciful.”

Morgause didn’t take her eyes off the man until he and Arthur (who was quite forcefully dragging him) had disappeared from the Great Hall before returning to her seat. Slowly the celebration started up again, and before long it was back to the noisy affair it had once been.

“Are you all right?” Morgana’s soft voice permeated the noise around them, and Morgause focused in on it, allowing it to ground her.

She turned to look at the woman sitting next to her and offered her a small smile. “I am, My Lady. Forgive my brevity. And for making a scene.”

“It is not you who should be asking forgiveness,” Morgana replied, her eyes flashing with ire as she glanced across the table to where the man had been sitting. “But I do want to take this opportunity to say thank you. You defended my honor, and that means more to me than you know.”

“I would gladly lay down my life defending you, Morgana,” Morgause said without hesitation.

Morgana blushed prettily and looked away, clearing her throat politely. “Are you enjoying the celebration? Drunk, rude mercenaries notwithstanding?”

Morgause exhaled a small laugh and toyed with a pile of grapes in front of her. “I am, forgive me. Where I am from, celebrations are a much. . . different affair.”

Morgana glanced around the room and rolled her eyes when they fell on Arthur who had returned and was now arm wrestling with Sir Gawain before turning back to Morgause. “What are celebrations like where you’re from?” she asked, her bright eyes lighting up with interest as she took a delicate sip of wine from her goblet.

Morgause couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering to Morgana’s lips as the Ward licked them afterwards. “Celebrations where I am from are beautiful and freeing and never done within the confines of buildings. My people dance around fires as tall as trees without inhibitions long into the night, preferably when it’s raining so we can be one with all the elements. Samhain is the greatest of all celebrations, and if I could be granted but one wish, it would be for you to someday experience it with me.”

Morgana’s eyes grew wide with wonder as Morgause spoke. “That sounds incredible, like a dream. Where are you from?”

Morgause looked away, nibbling her lower lip. She only now realized she probably shouldn’t have spoken so openly of her home, but she had no desire to lie to Morgana. “Far east from here, deep within a vast forest. The castle in which we live sits on a beautiful island in the middle of a pristine lake. It is paradise.”

Morgana’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why did you come to Camelot? I can’t imagine wanting to leave such a place.”

Morgause stalled from answering by taking a sip of wine. She had a feeling Morgana wasn’t ready to hear _she_ was the reason for Morgause’s presence here. Still, as she gazed into those icy green, impossibly beautiful eyes, she could not have lied, even if she wanted to. “My destiny rests in the heart of Camelot. I know I’m where I’m meant to be.”

Morgause watched in wonder and awe as something predatory and hungry entered Morgana’s eyes. “Morgause, I think I’ve had a few too many goblets of wine. Would you do me the honor of escorting me to my chambers? I fear the offense of the mercenary earlier has put me off this celebration for the evening.”

Morgause felt her heart flip-flop in her chest at the sudden suggestion. She was quite sure Morgana had less than a single goblet of wine, and certainly not enough to justify leaving the celebration for drunkenness. “Of course,” she said nonetheless. Could she in all honesty deny Morgana anything?

She rose from the table and watched with amusement as Morgana played Uther like a lyre with a convincing lie that she wanted the boys to have fun with their celebration without having to concern themselves with decorum with a Lady present. She placated him with flattery, then they stole away from the noisy hall. Morgause’s heart raced as they walked down a long corridor towards a destination that held a lot of promise, if Morgana’s sideways glances were any indication. Their pace was not rapid, as there were quite a few guards patrolling the corridors of Camelot and they did not wish to appear suspicious. When Morgana’s fingertips brushed against Morgause’s hand, the blonde’s breath caught in her throat, though mainly because the King’s Ward then caressed her fingertips along the inside of Morgause’s palm. It was becoming more and more difficult to interpret Morgana’s intentions as anything innocent, though Morgause could still hardly believe Morgana could be interested in her in that way. As they stopped in front of Morgana’s bed chamber door, they turned to face one another and dark brown eyes met icy green. Morgause could feel the spark of powerful magic flow between them; the oldest and most primal of all Earth magic: the magic of desire.

“Come, my champion. I wish to show you the beauty of Camelot from my balcony view as my final gift to you,” Morgana said, though Morgause suspected it was more for the guard’s ears than her own.

“I am honored to receive any gifts of the fair and beautiful Lady Morgana,” Morgause replied, but to Morgana and not for the sake of the guards at all. All she could see now was her beautiful destiny in front of her. All else had faded away.

Slender fingers opened the door and Morgana stepped inside, holding the door open invitingly. Morgause did not hesitate for a moment as she crossed the threshold; her destiny was calling and she was not about to ignore it. Regretfully, though, she knew she could not stay for long. The guards would surely grow suspicious if Morgause did not leave the Ward’s bed chamber for the night.

She followed Morgana to the balcony, though it was not Camelot that drew her gaze. The Ward looked over the city, her face growing thoughtful.

“I know where you’re from, Morgause. I have dreamed of the place you described as your home many times. Please. . . do not lie to me when you answer me. Are you from the Isle of the Blessed?”

Morgause’s status as a battle-hardened High Priestess prevented her from feeling afraid for her life at such a question, but she was unsure how Morgana would react to the truth and all its implications so soon. Still, lying was not in her nature, but she was careful to keep her face expressionless. “Yes,” she replied simply.

Morgana looked surprised by her honesty. She hesitated for a moment, as though afraid to ask the next question, but she seemed to come to some form of resolve. “And do you have magic?” she asked in a lowered voice.

Morgause knew her answer could change everything between them, and that thought was far more terrifying than admitting to having magic in a kingdom where it was punishable by death. But she had to trust in her destiny; it had gotten her this far. She took a deep breath, then took the plunge. “I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion. Magic flows through me as the rivers and currents flow through the land and the oceans.”

Morgana’s eyes widened further, then deep concern filled them. She reached for Morgause and clasped the blonde’s hands. “You cannot stay in Camelot, you are not safe here, Morgause. Uther has ways of finding those who wield magic, and if he were to discover you, he will kill you.”

“I do not fear Uther Pendragon,” Morgause replied smoothly.

“You should, for he fears you greatly. And it is that fear that has ended the lives of many innocent people,” Morgana replied, worry etched on her beautiful face.

Morgana’s concern deeply touched Morgause, though the pain in her eyes made the blonde’s heart ache. Without thinking, she reached out a hand and tenderly caressed Morgana’s cheek, hoping the beautiful Ward drew comfort in her touch. “You need not worry about me, Lady Morgana. Uther Pendragon cannot hurt me.”

Morgana’s worry evaporated, replaced by surprise at the intimate touch Morgause had so brazenly placed on her cheek. Despite Morgana’s surprise, Morgause found she couldn’t pull away, especially since Morgana made no move to draw back.

Morgause had to pull away of course, they were standing on the balcony for all of Camelot to see. She doubted too much trouble could come of a mere caress, especially between women, but she didn’t want to push her limits, if only because she didn’t want to risk Morgana being subjected to even a single moment of Uther’s wrath. She reluctantly dropped her hand.

“Forgive me, I should not have shared such a secret with you. Knowing a sorceress in this land is dangerous, and I would rather give my life than to see harm come to you.”

Morgana looked disappointed by the distance now between them. “You do not need my forgiveness, Morgause, for that would mean you have wronged me. I am glad you have trusted me with your secret; I am honored by your trust,” Morgana said softly, offering Morgause a beautiful smile. “Come, let me provide you with a sleeping gown for the night,” Morgana said, sweeping back into her room. Morgause hesitated, but only for a moment before following the Ward back inside, closing the balcony doors softly behind her. The Ward crossed to a large trunk at the foot of her bed, beckoning the blonde to her. Morgause complied, taking up a position next to the Ward. “Which one would you like?” Morgana asked.

Morgause had the distinct feeling Morgana was leading up to something, but the priestess was far too intrigued to stop now. She leaned down and pointed to a flowing silk nightdress. “This one,” she said softly.

Her pulse spiked as Morgana bent too, reaching for it before Morgause could straighten and their hands brushed. When Morgause froze, Morgana boldly laced their fingers and straightened, tugging Morgause with her. Morgause’s breath became labored as she found herself mere inches from Morgana. The young sorceress looked positively radiant in the dancing firelight, her incredible beauty all the more accentuated by the look of unbridled desire in her eyes. It was breathtaking.

It was torturous. Everything in Morgause was screaming at her to just lean forward, to claim those lips that were currently tormenting her, but she could not move, she could not take something Morgana had yet to explicitly offer.

“Morgause,” Morgana whispered, her green eyes gazing intently at the blonde’s lips.

“My Lady?” Morgause managed, though her voice was rough in breathless from the effort of restraining her passion.

“I have one last request of my champion,” Morgana whispered again, and Morgause could hear the tremble in the other’s breath.

“Anything,” Morgause answered earnestly. At this point Morgana could have asked her to throw herself off the balcony and she would have done so willingly.

“A kiss,” Morgana said, raising a trembling finger to touch her own cheek, demonstrating where she’d like to be kissed.

Morgause was not naïve, she knew this was a trap. But never had she wanted more to be ensnared in someone’s web than she did in this moment. She slowly leaned forward, angling carefully towards Morgana’s cheek, but as soon as her lips were about to touch porcelain skin, the clever Ward turned her head and their lips met instead. Morgause could only feel a swell of pride at Morgana’s boldness. When Morgana whimpered invitingly against her lips, Morgause was helpless to stop herself from pressing her body to the Ward’s, her hands once again finding Morgana’s hips as the kiss deepened.

She knew she _really_ shouldn’t be doing this, not when the guards were all-too aware of her presence here, not when Morgana’s maid could come in at any moment to help her change into her nightdress.

All thought of guards and maids left her mind when Morgana’s lips parted and her tongue began caressing Morgause’s with loving strokes. The warrior’s fingertips tightened on Morgana’s hips for only a moment of hesitation before using her grip to push her up against the nearest surface which happened to be one of the poles of Morgana’s four-poster bed. The kiss deepened further, becoming rough and messy as the undeniable passion between them grew. When Morgana clasped one of Morgause’s hand and guided it up to her breast, Morgause tore away from the other’s lips with a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan.

“You should not toy with my passions, Morgana,” Morgause cautioned, her voice rough and breathless with arousal. “For although I would never take what was not freely given, I do have my limits for temptation,” she continued, resting her forehead against Morgana’s, hoping the chaste action would somehow get her back in control of the situation.

“I tempt you?” Morgana asked, her voice deliciously ragged and hopeful.

Considering Morgause’s undergarments were likely ruined at this point with her arousal, she was quite sure of her answer. “More than you could ever know,” Morgause answered honestly. “But I cannot stay. I fear I have tarried too long as is.”

“Don’t go,” Morgana breathed, the pleading in her voice nearly bringing Morgause to her knees. “Please. . . I could not bear it if you left me now.”

Could Morgause honestly deny Morgana when she had pled with such sweet need in her voice? The priestess gave in willingly, helpless to deny Morgana and more fully wrapped her arms around the Ward. Their lips collided again in another fevered kiss, this time unable to control the intention of her desire. Her hands roamed up Morgana’s sides and back, her knee pushing against the fabric of the other’s dress as their tongues writhed, eliciting soft groans from them both. She couldn’t stop a whimper of delight when Morgana’s legs fell open to allow the contact of Morgause’s knee pressing up between the apex of her thighs, and both of them rolled their hips into each other in response. She tore her lips from Morgana’s again but only to kiss her way to the Ward’s neck and latch onto her with a harsh bite. She realized only after she did it that it may have been too hard, but Morgana groaned in response and tilted her head back, offering Morgause better access. The warrior accepted the invitation without hesitation, kissing and nipping the offered neck until Morgana was all but mewling needily in her arms.

Just as Morgause had resolved herself to throw Morgana on the bed and take every inch of what was being so freely offered to her, a loud knock on the chamber door had the two of them flying away from one another fearfully. Thinking quickly, Morgause stooped and picked up one of Morgana’s nightgowns from the trunk which the Ward had offered her earlier.

“My Lady?” the muffled voice of a guard said through the door. “Is everything all right?”

Morgause saw a flash of ire cross Morgana’s face and had to suppress a pleased grin. The Ward strode to the door and wrenched it open. “Cannot two respectable women converse with one another without being hounded by the men in their lives?” she snapped.

The guard stumbled back from the door in surprise. “For-forgive me, My L-Lady. I did not mean offense. I was ordered to ensure your safety by the King. He was concerned with all the mercenaries from the tournament moving about the castle.”

Morgana’s face softened as Morgause came up behind her. “Forgive my ire,” Morgana said more gently. “I fear my nerves are a bit overworked from celebrating with the rough men of the tournament. They do lack the decorum of the Knights of Camelot, don’t they?”

The guard’s eyes flickered to Morgause then questioningly back to Morgana. The Ward regarded him coolly for a moment before saying, “It isn’t often I get to converse with a female champion of the tournament. I was offering her a nightdress and we got to talking. I am quite safe with Morgause. You may go.”

Giving Morgause one last glance, he bowed his head to Morgana. “Yes, My Lady.”

After he and the other guard with him receded down the hall and turned the corner, Morgana turned quickly to Morgause and pressed her lips to her cheek. “Return to my chambers in secret when the celebrations have quieted and Camelot sleeps?” she whispered, her hot breath in Morgause’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

“All the Knights of Camelot could not stop me,” Morgause whispered back. She pressed a fleeting but fierce kiss to Morgana’s cheek before retreating down the corridor to her bedchambers. Leaving Morgana in that moment, alone and in need of the priestess’s touch, was quite possibly the single most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life.

* * *

Morgana couldn’t sit still as she awaited Morgause’s return. Guinevere had stopped in to help her change into her nightdress, and afterwards Morgana had shooed her away, telling her to relax and stop fussing over her for the night. She now felt like a caged animal as her bare feet padded up and down the cold stone floor. Now that she had time to think about it, she probably shouldn’t have asked Morgause to return, if only for the Priestess’s safety. Should things go the way Morgana desperately desired them to go, but they were discovered naked together in Morgana’s bed, Uther would likely have Morgause executed. She had no idea what Uther would do with herself; banishment perhaps? Without her virginity to offer as a prize, he would no longer be able to marry her off to a prince.

Anger suddenly swelled in her chest at the thought. If Arthur were discovered in bed with someone to whom he wasn’t married, Uther would congratulate him on becoming a man. The double standard infuriated her, but only for a short time as her thoughts drifted back to the person she wished to bed tonight. Morgause had looked positively divine in the deep red dress she’d chosen to wear, her lovely blonde locks cascading about her shoulders. Despite her feminine appearance, though, Morgana could still see danger lurking in those fierce brown eyes, a fierceness which looked as though she could take on the world, and all while wearing that devastating dress. Her little display of protectiveness for Morgana at the feast was also hopelessly arousing. It was that intensity that had drawn her to Morgause from their first meeting. Every time they met, Morgause looked at her in a way no one ever had. There was desire and passion in her dark eyes, but not in the lascivious way she’d seen many men look upon her. For though there was undeniable lust lurking in those beautiful dark eyes, she also saw profound respect and adoration. It was those last two that Morgana found both aggravatingly puzzling and arousing. What had she done to earn this powerful priestess’s adoration? Desire she could understand, she had mirrors after all, and she’d read some less-than respectable (and forbidden in the court of Camelot) books on the topic of intimacy. But respect and adoration?

As though her thoughts had called the priestess to her, she suddenly heard a soft knock on her chamber door. Her heart practically leapt in her chest with nervous excitement as she rushed to it. She opened it as quietly as she could and pulled Morgause in before closing and locking it. She turned and pressed her back against the door, biting her lower lip when their eyes met. Morgause seemed not to share Morgana’s nervousness, indeed her face had taken on a confidence that the Ward found strangely comforting. And then she found it incredibly arousing as a soft, almost smug smile teased the priestess’s lips as she stalked into Morgana’s space then pinned her up against the door with her strong body. Morgause slid her hands up the door, planting them on either side of Morgana’s shoulders then leaned her head forward, placing her lips just out of reach. The Ward’s eyes fluttered shut in anticipation and her breath caught in her throat, her entire body humming with desire.

“Does the Lady Morgana still desire my touch?” Morgause whispered, and Morgana felt a ghost of a kiss upon her lips. She tried to lean into it, but she found she was quite pinned against the warrior’s strong body and could not move.

“Yes,” Morgana breathed, gasping when Morgause’s knee pressed up between her thighs, bringing them impossibly closer together.

“Morgana. . .” the priestess exhaled her name as a lover’s sigh, and _gods_ she loved the way Morgause said her name.

Morgause at last gifted her with the kiss she so desired. And then something in the powerful priestess seemed to snap. Morgana found herself wrenched from the door and turned, stumbling backwards toward the bed as Morgause tugged at the Ward’s nightdress. Morgana was helpless to do anything but to surrender herself willingly to the High Priestess. Their lips separated for a few moments as Morgana’s nightdress lifted over her head only to fall to the floor, followed shortly after by Morgause’s. The two of them paused for several breaths to look over each other’s new exposed bodies. Morgause’s body was strong and toned, and the way the firelight danced across her creamy skin drove Morgana to madness with desire. Her lust only deepened when Morgause’s dark eyes raked over Morgana’s naked form, quite clearly approving of what she saw if her ragged breath and black eyes were any indication.

The moment passed and the distance between them vanished as they tumbled back on the bed, Morgause landing on top of her. Morgana latched onto the priestess’s lips in another desperate kiss, a need she’d never before experienced filling her entire being with forbidden, delicious desire. Morgana’s fingers tangled in thick blonde hair as Morgause settled on top of her and began exploring the Ward’s skin with her lips and tongue. Despite the fact that she could feel every muscle in Morgause’s body was tense with restrained passion, she was incredibly tender in her exploration of Morgana’s body. Every kiss and nip was intentional and knowing, but never rough or out of control. Morgause’s gentleness again surprised Morgana, considering how incredibly fearsome the priestess was on the battlefield, but at the same time Morgana never felt safer or more cared for in her entire life than she did in that moment.

After lavishing Morgana’s breasts and neck with her clever mouth until the Ward was squirming and near begging for Morgause’s touch, the priestess at last propped herself up on her elbow while her other hand traced down Morgana’s body, settling between the apex of her thighs.

“Goddess, Morgana. . .” Morgause’s head fell forward with a groan when the evidence of Morgana’s desire coated her fingertips. “Gods, you’re so beautiful.”

Morgana let out a strangled whimper as Morgause began teasing her swollen, aching arousal with experimental strokes. It didn’t take long for Morgause’s clever fingers to discover what Morgana needed, and soon the Ward was writhing and panting beneath the priestess, trying desperately not to groan loud enough for any passing guards or servants to hear. Morgause seemed to sense Morgana’s hesitation, for suddenly she sat up, removing her hand from between the Ward’s thighs.

“Morgause!” Morgana protested somewhere between a growl and a genuine sob. She felt as though she might just die if Morgause left her like this.

“Patience, my love,” Morgause whispered, leaning down to press a reassuring kiss to Morgana’s lips.

Patient was the last thing Morgana wanted to be. As a Lady of the court and the King’s Ward, she was quite accustomed to getting what she wanted when she wanted it, but from what she knew of Morgause thus far, she never did anything without good reason. The High Priestess held out her arms palms facing out, then her eyes began to glow gold as she chanted words of the Old Religion. After a few moments, Morgana felt more than saw the bed become surrounded with an aura of magic. Once done, Morgause lowered her arms, a small, smug smile tugging at her lips as she settled back over Morgana.

“No one will hear your passion now, my love,” Morgause whispered, pressing tantalizing kisses to the Ward’s neck as her hand slid back down Morgana’s body. The Ward shuddered in approval of being called “my love.” Every inch of her wanted to be claimed, consumed, devoured by Morgause, and the ownership of Morgause’s chosen pet name thrilled Morgana beyond words.

Thoughts were stolen from her mind as one of Morgause’s fingers began teasing her slick entrance and Morgana rolled her hips up into the touch with a soft groan. Emboldened by this response, Morgause carefully entered Morgana with a single digit, watching her face intently, as if searching for signs of discomfort. Morgause’s concern was touching, if unnecessary, and Morgana reached up to cup the priestess’s face reassuringly.

“It does not hurt,” Morgana breathed, pushing her hips up to invite Morgause further inside. “Please. . . nnh!”

Words were stolen from her again with an uncontrolled groan as Morgause buried her finger to the knuckle, pressing her palm up against her aching arousal and began swirling and driving into her tight, wet walls. Morgana’s breath and heartrate became erratic as pleasure like she’d never known consumed her, making her ache all the more for Morgause’s touch as she began climbing toward inevitability.

“Morgause, please. . .!” Morgana panted, not quite sure what it was she was begging for, she only knew she needed more of her, she needed to be filled completely, claimed, possessed in every way by the High Priestess hovering over her. Unsure how else to articulate her need, she gasped out the only word that came to her. “More. . .!”

Mercifully, her priestess seemed to understand what she meant. Morgause withdrew her finger from Morgana only to add two more and glide back inside her. Morgana opened up for her as though she was made for her, and despite the fact that she’d never before been entered like this, she was surprised to find it didn’t hurt. She was unsure if it was because she was so hopelessly aroused or it was because of how gently Morgause had stretched her, but she didn’t have much time to contemplate it. For as those powerful fingers began driving into her over and over, all Morgana could do was arch into Morgause with unbridled groans of passion.

She felt inevitability clawing through her and it made her ache all the more for Morgause. All of it was just too exquisitely perfect, Morgause’s powerful body rocking over her, soft lips against her skin, a sharp bite upon her neck, firelight dancing across glistening skin. Morgana could contain it no longer. She threw her head back and arched into Morgause as pleasure consumed her, claimed her, tore a cry of tortured ecstasy from her lips. And just when she finished riding the first waves of aftershocks, Morgause angled her fingers, curling them inside Morgana to a place she’d never discovered within herself. The ensuing pleasure that the action caused made her come again so hard and fast she had to bury her hands in Morgause’s hair and hold on for dear life as stars exploded across her vision and tears stung the corners of her eyes. It was the single most beautiful moment of her life to be shattered so completely by someone, to be unmade.

And yet Morgause still seemed unfinished with Morgana. Before the Ward could catch her breath, the High Priestess was climbing down her body. It took a moment to realize what Morgause was doing, but Morgana found out quickly enough when the priestess’s hot mouth suddenly latched onto her still-throbbing arousal. The sheer eroticism of this way of being claimed, one Morgana hadn’t even considered (being as she had no experience in this area), had her coming apart at the seams in mere seconds. Stars exploded across her vision, threatening to pull her into unconsciousness when Morgause buried her tongue inside and devoured Morgana whole. The Ward’s inner walls tightened over and over around her lover’s tongue in waves of pleasure, and Morgana screamed out into the night, her entire being quaking and shattered and complete.

Morgana didn’t even remember Morgause climbing back up her body. She just lay there gasping for air, her mind a pleasant fog of blissful darkness. Eventually she was brought back to the world with soft kisses to her cheeks, neck, and lips, though her head swam in delight when she tasted herself on the priestess's lips. The kiss deepened as Morgana hungrily licked into Morgause's mouth, whimpering softly in delight as she tasted the evidence of their lovemaking--a taste she hoped she would experience much more of in the future. When they parted and her eyes at last drifted open, they met beautiful dark brown.

A realization came over Morgana, deep and profound as she gazed upon this woman who had swept into her life like the winds of the northern sea. “I’m never going to want to lay with a man, am I?”

The question was rhetorical, and based on Morgause’s small smile, Morgana had a feeling she knew it. Morgause brought one of the Ward's hands to her lips and kissed her palm, settling her cheek in Morgana’s hand afterwards. “What if I told you there’s a place where you didn’t have to? Where there is no Uther and no fear of magic and sniveling princes hoping to steal your virginity?”

A slow smirk worked its way to Morgana’s lips. “I fear no prince can steal my virginity now. It appears a High Priestess has already done that.”

Morgause hummed happily and kissed Morgana’s palm again. “If I am to be hung for being a thief, then I shall die happy.”

Morgana’s brow furrowed at the thought of any harm coming to Morgause, let alone hung. “Can such a place exist? A place without Uther where I am safe to be who I am?”

Morgause reached out and stroked Morgana’s cheek, her eyes radiating love and reassurance. “My home. The Isle of the Blessed. Uther does not know where it rests, because it is hidden to all eyes except those who are invited there by the High Priestesses themselves. During the Great Purge we took precautions to prevent Uther from finding us. Fortunately, Nimue never told him of the Isle because she never fully trusted him. A wise decision on her part.”

More questions arose as Morgause spoke. “Why are you truly here, Morgause? In Camelot?”

Morgause didn’t look away, but she worried her lower lip for several moments before answering. “I came here. . . for you.”

“Me?” Morgana asked incredulously. “What have I possibly done to draw your eye to Camelot?”

“You have a great destiny ahead of you, Morgana, if you so choose it,” Morgause replied, sitting up to look more fully into Morgana’s eyes. “There are some possible futures that would cast you as the villain of Arthur and Emrys’ destiny if you allow the hatred and fear of Uther claim your heart. Or you can choose your own destiny and be the hero of your own story and the villain of none. You can come with me to the Isle of the Blessed and become the greatest sorceress this world has ever known, and to hell with the great ‘legend’ of Arthur and Camelot. Let them find their own villain. Your legend will be that of Avalon, a story far greater than that of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.”

Morgana thought for a long time before she chose her answer, and Morgause waited without complaint or impatience in her eyes. “Can I have time to think about it?” she asked softly. The idea of running away with Morgause to the Isle of the Blessed was thrilling, but she also knew she shouldn’t make this decision lightly.

Morgause’s face broke out into a wide, warm smile. “As long as you need. I would be wary had you said yes so quickly. I am not here to steal you away from Camelot. I am here to offer you freedom. The choice is yours to make, and yours alone. You are my destiny, Morgana, and I will always be here for you, no matter your choice.”

Morgana had other questions, but after hearing such a sweet confession she no longer wished to discuss destinies or Camelot or any of the rest. All she wanted in that moment was to make Morgause feel what she had just felt, to share in the simple and divine pleasures of the flesh. Rolling Morgause beneath her, she claimed her lips again, then claimed the body that was being so freely offered to her.

It was on the night of her 20th birthday a few months later as she lay with Morgause in secret in Morgana’s bedchambers that Morgana realized there was nowhere she would rather be than in Morgause’s arms, and that the Isle of the Blessed was where her heart was for that was where Morgause’s home was. And so the next morning, High Priestess and young sorceress rode together from Camelot, never to look back.

And there they _lived_ ever after.

**The End**


End file.
